


Silence Blooming in the Snow

by winternacht



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Curses, Explicit Sexual Content, Fairy Tale Elements, Fuck Or Die, Hypothermia, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22153162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/pseuds/winternacht
Summary: Elias returns to the Institute, where Peter has left a little gift for him.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 11
Kudos: 188





	Silence Blooming in the Snow

Jon’s steps were nearly inaudible as he entered his office, as though he were walking over freshly fallen snow rather than floorboards that were prone to creaking. The persistent quiet had long stopped unsettling him, but he couldn’t pinpoint when that had happened. He’d simply got used to it, just as he had to his routine of searching for statements in the dead of the night, as time slowly ticked away unheard.

But then, between one moment and another, life seeped back into the Institute, pulsing through the walls and silent hallways. With a shiver, Jon recalled the sensation of his own heart beating anew, those desperate, tentative first twitches of a muscle unused for too long, so unlike the rapid tattoo that he could feel beneath his hand now.

The atmosphere, grown so heavy under the Lonely’s influence, lifted for an instant, making even the stale air in the Archives feel fresh, before the Eye’s gaze weighed it down again. But this weight was familiar, comforting. And as his dulled senses sharpened, something that Jon had only vaguely, in the back of his mind, known was amiss slotted into place

Elias was back.

Jon stood, the pile of statements in front of him forgotten. Torn, as he closed the door after himself, between telling the others and meeting Elias alone. But when Jon’s steps took him up the stairs and further away from the trapdoor to the tunnels, he realised he’d already made his decision.

Slowly, quietly, he made his way to the top floor, taking care to listen for any sounds. A precaution that was utterly unnecessary. None of the regular staff were here on a Saturday night. And there was hardly any need to hide, if that had even been a possibility; his movements were accompanied by dozens of eyes, guiding him as he stepped into the dark corridor to Elias’s office. He’d barely reached the door when the silence was broken by the sound of footsteps.

The lights went on, and Elias turned around the corner. Walking towards Jon with the same unreadable expression on his face he usually wore. From a distance, nothing seemed to have changed at all since the last time Jon had seen him. The same confident gait and posture. The same elegant suits, though upon closer inspection, Jon noticed he’d forgone the tie.

Elias stopped in front of Jon, just a step too far in his personal space. Enough that Jon would have recoiled under different circumstances. But now he couldn’t look away. Some of the lines around Elias’s eyes had gotten a little more prominent, his cheekbones looked just a little sharper. But his eyes were the same, bright and focused with interest. Truly, nothing had changed at all. And yet, something was different, something that made Jon shy away, shift his gaze away from Elias’s eyes.

“I see my absence has done nothing to hinder your growth,” Elias finally said with a smile that startled Jon in its sincerity. In its unassuming callousness. As if Jon hadn’t tried contacting him. The one person who knew what it meant to yearn for the piercing gaze of the Eye.

And still, the praise forced him to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep his lips from twitching. “Maybe you should postpone your return then.”

Elias chuckled as he unlocked his door. “You know I can’t do that. Peter did an excellent job, of course-“ Jon scoffed. “but he has other engagements now. Besides, some things are simply, well, outside his area of expertise.”

“What good is your ‘expertise’ if you never even try to act on it to help us?”

Elias ignored the venom in Jon’s voice, lips still curled in a smile that now struck Jon as annoyingly smug.

“You may have been spared some of the administrative tasks that go with your position–” Elias began as he opened the door, motioning for Jon to follow him.

The room was even more austere than it had been before. The few paintings had been removed, leaving the walls utterly bare. The curtains, the soft green carpet that had caught Jon’s eye the first time he’d entered the office, all gone. All that remained was Elias’s imposing desk strewn with letters and other papers, two chairs, and a few bare shelves. Elias seemed mostly unfazed, though he did let out a quiet sigh.

“In any case,” Elias continued, “there are responsibilities that can’t be neglected. Liaising with our patrons, especially those whose stake in the Institute is of a more mundane nature. Artefact Storage acquisitions. And of course–“

Elias stopped dead in his tracks, and Jon bumped into him, winced as his shoulder connected hard with Elias’s unmoving back. He sputtered, an apology and an insult mingling on his tongue, when he was overwhelmed by a sensation of pure ice shivering down his back. He looked up, squinting against the light. Right there, attached to the lamp just above them, hung a mistletoe. A leftover of last month’s Christmas decoration he would have assumed, if Peter had bothered to have the Institute decorated at all. Jon had never given the tradition associated with mistletoes much thought, but now he caught himself hurrying to step back, feeling oddly flustered.

“That- that’s very unprofessional, don’t you think?” he finally said.

“I quite agree, Jon,” Elias said, though he sounded a little distracted as he scrutinised the mistletoe. “Seems like Peter left a little parting gift for me.”

“Yes, I heard he has a sense of humour.”

“He certainly believes he does.”

Jon chuckled before he could stop himself.

“You mentioned patrons who don’t know about the powers?” he asked quickly. He’d never really considered that fact. Once, shortly after he had assumed his position as the new Head Archivist, he’d been kindly requested to attend a reception hosted by the Institute. He’d tried to learn the different names to make a good impression – mostly on Elias if he was honest to himself – but in the end, he’d ended up standing in a corner for most of the evening, clinging to a glass of champagne. He still remembered how relieved he’d been when Elias had finally found some time for him after two excruciatingly boring hours. How easily they had fallen into a conversation that had nothing to do with patronage at all. In the end, he barely remembered the faces of most of the patrons. Only some of the names had stuck in his head, but he didn’t remember encountering any of them in the statements, save for the Fairchilds and the Lukases.

“Yes,” Elias said, finally turning towards Jon again. “They all consider the Archives an embarrassment that mars the otherwise spotless reputation of our illustrious library. But they do make up the majority of our donors. Which is why the next couple of weeks will require some rather delicate negotiations.”

“I hope you don’t expect any sympathy from me.”

Elias laughed quietly. “I don’t. All I expect from you, Jon, is that you continue your excellent work.”

“Why?” It came out shakier than Jon was comfortable with, without any of the spite he’d thought would lace the question of what the point of all that was, with just the slightest hint of compulsion behind it. A question he’d never had the opportunity to ask, being turned away every time he’d wanted to visit Elias in prison.

Elias’s voice was soft when he spoke. “Because you and I both know that the rest of the Institute only exists to make sure that the Archives thrive.”

He transfixed Jon with his gaze again, and this time, Jon didn’t try to evade it. Instead, he stepped closer, his heart beating fast, feeling the hunger he’d tried so hard to suppress overtake him as he lost himself in the depths of Elias’s eyes. The power felt electric on his tongue, compelling him as strongly to ask as it would compel Elias to answer. And this time, there was no doubt that he would receive his answer. Maybe he wouldn’t even have to ask. All he had to do was harness the power to find the right thread, twine it around his fingers and draw his secrets out one by one. Pure delight radiated from Elias, and Jon knew that Elias would let him, would want him to, would—

No, Jon realised with sudden horror. Elias had not been the one who’d changed.

“I-I have to go,” Jon said hurriedly, already turning.

“Jon, wait!” For a moment, Jon felt the warmth of his fingers around his wrist. And for a moment, he wanted nothing more but to stay. But then he tugged himself free and all but ran out of the office.

Back in the Archives, Jon read the first statement from the pile he’d been going through, forcing himself to dip into someone else’s mind for nearly half an hour, not at the rapid pace at which he wanted to devour the statement but in the statement giver’s measured diction. By the end, his hunger was barely slaked, but if Elias hadn’t come down yet, he probably would not seek him out any time soon. It was a relief, or it should have been. But the feeling simply slid down his spine like a handful of snow, leaving nothing but discomfort in its wake.

Afterwards, he went straight to his room. There was no way he could face the others now, while his mind kept turning Elias’s words over and over, a jumbled mess of fragmented sentences until only one remained. _Jon, wait!_ Had he only imagined the hint of disquiet in his voice? He shivered, pulling the blankets tighter around himself. Refusing to regret that he hadn’t stayed.

~

“It was hardly unexpected, after the charges were dropped,” Basira said, pushing the space heater away from herself. “Just sooner than we thought. I really didn’t think it would be… tomorrow.”

“I know,” Jon said with a sigh. He edged his chair closer towards the heater, stretching out his hands to warm them. Just another reason to hate the tunnels; how with every passing second, the cold seemed to seep deeper into his bones.

But it wasn’t the actual reason he avoided the tunnels. They made him feel weaker, disconnected somehow. His thoughts kept drifting back upstairs, to the Archives. To where he belonged.

“What do we do now?” he asked.

“Back to Gertrude’s notes, I’d say. I think I’m getting closer to decoding them. I’m just convinced that they contain information about Elias. If we find out what exactly he’s been planning, then maybe…” she drifted off, her expression turning to stone.

“Basira,” Jon said softly.

She gave him a long, careful look. Then she nodded towards the space she and Melanie had created for themselves all those months ago, a few meters away, where Daisy was sleeping tucked beneath multiple blankets. It had been a particularly bad day for her, and finding out about Elias had been the last straw.

“I’m just so worried about her,” Basira said, her voice almost a whisper. “About how Elias’s presence might affect her. What if he wants her to kill again?”

“Maybe it will be different this time,” Jon mused, though he was unsure himself. He wished this was something he could simply know. “She signed the contract, so she is connected to the Eye now. Maybe that will- help.”

“It hasn’t helped so far, has it now?” Basira said sharply.

“Well, no,” Jon stammered, “But- Well, since he’s the heart of the Institute-“

For a moment, she closed her eyes, and Jon held his tongue.

“I think I know what you mean,” she then said in a neutral tone, meeting his anxious gaze.

Jon smiled, relieved. “Good.”

“No,” Basira said, and stood. “Not good at all. For either of us.”

~

Jon lay curled up under his blanket, dreading the moment the last remnants of sleep slipped away, leaving him with no choice but to get up. Soon, Elias would return. Punctual, as he always was, entering at 8 a.m. sharp. And then seeing him again would only be a matter of time. If Elias didn’t just go downstairs all on his own.

But 8 a.m. came and went, and there was still no sign of Elias. It should have been a relief, a bunch of problems left for later instead of accumulating before he knew how to deal with them. But instead, his absence simply left him with the hollow ache that had become so familiar during Peter’s time, briefly forgotten and now torn open anew.

At one point, he considered going upstairs and asking Rosie if she knew anything, but then he decided against it. Instead, he spent half the day in a dusty storage room, looking for a statement that would at least come close to satisfying him, at least for a brief time. But nothing seemed to jump out at him. Of course, actual statements were rare compared to all the fake ones stored in an endless assortment of boxes, but the chance that none of them contained one felt rather low.

He was rifling through a box labelled 19th century with shaking fingers when someone knocked at the door. His heart skipped a beat, before he realised that no, it couldn’t be Elias, because Elias’s knock was different, two sharp knocks instead of three almost playful ones. And if it had been Elias, he would have known, he was sure of that.

“Is this a bad time?” Daisy asked as she opened the door, raising her eyebrow at him, and for a moment, Jon worried about what was showing on his face. But he wasn’t lying when he told her he was glad to see her. And she did look a little better today.

“Come on, up you go, I’ve brought lunch,” she said with a grin, raising a paper bag she was carrying. “And there’s a rerun of yesterday’s episode soon, and I’d really hate for us to miss that.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. But he couldn’t help smiling. Perhaps this was exactly what he needed. “I’ll go make us some tea.”

Usually, the break room was the warmest room in the basement. But the radiator was cold when Jon touched it, even though it seemed to be turned on. Sighing, he turned it up to the maximum level and leaned against it while he waited for the water to boil. He couldn’t help wondering, then, how often Martin had stood there, trying to warm himself up on a cold winter day, making tea for everyone. His preferred blend was still in the cupboard, and Jon hadn’t dared touch it, waiting for him to come back. But it seemed that his agreement with Peter hadn’t ended just because Peter wasn’t in charge of the Institute anymore.

Had Peter taken him to the Tundra, or somewhere else? He found himself dreading the thought of Martin becoming a written statement on his desk. A lone letter sent from nowhere.

Jon pushed himself off the radiator and busied himself with the tea. Daisy was waiting for him. He couldn’t allow himself to wallow. But he did decide to use Martin’s blend, for once. To keep him present, in this one way.

The steam washed over him as he poured the water into a pot, and he closed his eyes as he tried to relish the sensation. It took him a couple of moments to realise that it hadn’t warmed his face at all. The pot was cold to his touch. But when he took away his hand after a few seconds, his palm was slightly reddened. And he was certain he’d heard the kettle boil. He nearly called out to Daisy, but then he decided against it. There was no reason to worry her before he hadn’t figured out what was going on.

After lunch, Daisy sat in the sofa chair by Jon’s desk, tapping her fingers against the arm rest to the rhythm of a song she was listening to with her headphones on, while Jon kept digging through the box he’d unearthed earlier. But it was futile.

Apparently, even Jonah Magnus’s contemporaries had been prone to exaggeration of mundane events. Jon even found one about a dreadful experience with a mistletoe, which he quickly tossed onto the fiction pile and covered with yet another false statement, just in case Daisy noticed. And while there was some undeniable historical value in those letters, they were not what Jon needed.

But they did remind him of a time when he would have been excited to tell Elias about what he’d found. Old statements, even fake ones, were a rarity, after all, and to think that they had been gracelessly stuffed into a cardboard box hidden away in a dusty storage room when they should have probably been kept in the library. Some of them may very well have belonged to a museum, given the correspondents.

“Jon!”

Jon looked up, startled, surprised to find Daisy standing in front of him, her hand extended towards him like she wanted to shake his shoulder. 

“W-what?” His teeth were chattering. How long had that been going on?

“God, are you alright? Do you have a-“ she stopped, frowning. “You don’t really look like you have a fever. Can you even still get a fever?”

“I don’t know.” He tried to recall the last time he’d even had a light cough.

She touched his forehead and flinched.

“Is it bad?” Jon asked.

“It’s… you’re ice cold. Like I just fished you out of a frozen pond.”

“I don’t understand,” Jon said, anxious.

“Did you read one of those Leitners, maybe?”

“N-no, but…” Elias. It had to do with him. That icy sensation he’d experienced the other day. Under the mistletoe.

“I think… I think it’s maybe to do with an artefact,” he said carefully. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea for both us to go looking for it.”

“You can’t seriously expect me to let you do this alone.”

“I… I think it’s safer to seek out on my own. And it’s in the Institute. That’s the one place I’m supposed to be safe, isn’t it?” His words rang hollow in his ears, and Daisy hardly looked satisfied with his explanation.

“We both know that’s bullshit.”

Jon let out a desperate laugh. “Yes, but… please trust me. I think if we go together it will be worse. And if things get worse, maybe giving a statement about it might help.”

Daisy was still eyeing him sceptically. “Fine. I’ll get the tape recorders ready then. Just in case.”

“Thank you, Daisy.”

He practically ran up the stairs, past researchers falling silent at the sight of him. He didn’t care. If there was a chance Elias was in his office, that the mistletoe was still there as well…

The door was locked, of course. Perhaps it would have been wise to bring Daisy after all, she could have picked the lock. But he didn’t want to risk the curse spreading to her too, if that was a possibility.

There was a guilty part of him too, that whispered in his ear that this wasn’t the only reason. But he couldn’t allow himself to listen to it. Under different circumstances, it might have been an opportunity for some obnoxious but ultimately harmless teasing, if he ended up making it out of the situation alive. But with Elias’s involvement…

He slumped down onto one of the chairs in front of his office, feeling utterly drained. He pulled out his phone to text Elias, but the message didn’t seem to come through. His attempts to call Elias remained unsuccessful as well. So all that was left to do was wait.

He didn’t know how long he’d been waiting, but at some point, Rosie walked past him, already dressed in a heavy woollen coat. He cursed himself for not putting on his own coat before going upstairs.

“Rosie!” he called after her. He had to call out twice more before she stopped and turned around. He expected her expression to be displeased at having to deal with him, but instead she simply looked surprised.

“Jon? Are you waiting for Peter? Because…”

Jon blinked at her. “No, for Elias.”

“Oh! So he’s told you too,” she said. But then she frowned. “He told me the other day that he was going to announce Peter’s departure and his return via mail in the morning, but he never actually came in today. I tried to call him, but he wouldn’t pick up the phone. Have you heard anything?”

Jon shook his head. “I also thought he’d be back today.” He looked towards Elias’s office. Still locked, no sliver of light beneath the door. Elias had always the one person to stay nearly as long as Jon had, before he’d started basically living at the Institute. How often had he entered the corridor, relieved to find his light still on, to find him available to discuss statements or other important developments.

“Well, in any case, thank you for-“ He turned towards her, but she was gone. “Fine then,” he muttered. He’d gotten used to this. And yet… surely, he would have heard her leave. Heard a door close. The sound of her heels on the floor.

He rose from his chair, putting one hand against Elias’s door. Maybe he had never even left. But it couldn’t be. If he was on the other side of the door, Jon would know, he was convinced of that. Now, all he felt from the other side was a yawning void.

Defeated, Jon made his way back the Archives through blessedly empty corridors. He was cold and exhausted, and the only reason he didn’t go straight to bed was that he wanted to inform Daisy that the situation still wasn’t resolved. Except that he couldn’t find her in the Archives.

He wrote her a quick text to keep her updated and went to get ready for bed. Over his pyjamas, he put on a jumper for good measure, then finally crawled under the blanket, pulling it up to his chin hoping that he wouldn’t be too cold to fall asleep.

~

Jon’s dreams were distressingly empty that night. It was the first time he hadn’t dreamt since the Unknowing, and it left him wired and tense, the wrongness of it filling him with icy dread. A feeling he remembered from when the dreams had started. Back when they’d still been nightmares that eluded his memory’s grasp in the daylight.

His limbs protested when he tried to stretch them out. All he wanted to do was make himself small, to preserve the last remnants of warmth. But he had to get up. He had to find Elias.

Gritting his teeth, Jon pushed himself up, forced himself to change into clothes that felt soaked with cold water to his touch, even though they were bone-dry. The zips of his boots dug into stiff fingers, leaving angry red welts behind. Perhaps it would be best to try Elias’s office again. A look at the phone told him it was just past midnight. Nobody would be around while he tried to break in.

It also didn’t escape his notice that neither Daisy nor Elias had replied to his messages. But when he left the room, he noticed that the lights were still on in his own office.

“Daisy?”

Her chair was empty. But his desk…

His desk was littered in notes. Or rather, blank pieces of paper, about a dozen of them. At the centre of his desk, one of the notes was weighed down by a key. The writing on it was faint, like tracks covered by freshly fallen snow. But as shaky as it was, it was unmistakably Elias’s. His address.

Jon hurriedly put on his coat, wrapped himself up with his scarf and tugged on his gloves. By now, he was sure that it was pointless to try to stave off the cold that way, but if there was even the slightest chance it would help, he didn’t want to miss it.

But nothing could have prepared him for that first step outside the Institute. The wind cut across his face like a fine blade. Every breath he took stung, the fine mist around him turning to shards of ice on his tongue.

Elias’s home was not too far away. Close enough to reach by foot. Not that he had another option. The world around him was dipped in pure silence. There was a fine layer of snow on the ground, utterly undisturbed. He couldn’t remember when he’d seen that for the last time. Lights were burning in different windows, but never on the ground floor. Never in a place where he could try to peer inside.

He’d been prepared to push through the winds and the fog for as long as he was able to. But in the end, he’d just barely lost sight of the Institute when he spotted a figure standing frozen in its spot.

At first, he approached with caution, the mist around him getting thicker with every step he took, so bright it was nearly blinding. But not enough that he couldn’t See. 

Jon broke into a run, forcing his numb legs into movement. “Elias!”

A hiss escaped him as he felt a shard of ice cut into his cheek, but he pushed on. Even as the wind threatened to take his breath away. Even as the wet cold started crawling up his legs, threatening to anchor him to the spot.

“Elias,” he called again as he finally reached him, cradling his pale face in his gloved hands. It was like touching a statue, motionless and unbreathing, and for a dreadful second, Jon feared it was too late. But then his eyes opened. The familiar gaze settled on him, just a tiny spark of warmth, but it was all Jon needed.

Carefully, as if he could break him, Jon leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips against Elias’s. Hardly elegant or graceful. But he felt Elias sigh into the kiss, his lips tingling as the feeling returned to them. And suddenly, it was not enough. And still, already too much.

Jon flinched and stepped back, just an arm’s reach away. But it all it took for the fog to close in between them, to tear Elias out of his sight again.

Panicked, Jon staggered forward, reaching for Elias, but his hands only closed around cold air that started seeping into his gloves.

He’d made a mistake. But he wasn’t sure if it had been to come here in the first place, or to let go of Elias.

~

He found his way back to the Institute, not sure if he’d seen it through the fog or been drawn to it, lured by the tape recorders playing in a world that was beyond his reach. Or maybe it was the fact that even in this place, where it wasn’t a building dedicated to the worship of the Eye, it was where he belonged. The Archivist and his Archives. Even during Jane’s attack, he hadn’t felt as trapped in them.

The air inside was no longer warmer than on outside, but it hardly mattered. There was no warmth in his breath to make the air around him cloud.

When he reached the cot, he climbed under the blanket, even though it was useless. It offered no protection from the cold, either way. The pillow felt rough against his cheek, raw from the harsh wind. Gritting his teeth, with the last strength he could muster, he reached for the tape recorder on the night stand closer and turned it on.

“Statement of Jonathan Sims,” he whispered, his lips hardly moving. “Regarding an item cursed by the Lonely.”

His voice gave out halfway through the statement, but that didn’t stop him from continuing it in his head while the tape recorder ran quietly beside him. Didn’t stop him from holding on to the memory of Elias’s lips on his. The gentle brush of warmth. The delicate balance between joy and guilt. Between the fear of losing him, and the fear of finding him; he now knew in which direction the scale tipped.

~

Jon didn’t know how long he’d been lying there, the tape having long run out, leaving him with nothing else to measure time with in the windowless room. If time even passed in this place. He hadn’t been able to hear his own heartbeat in a while. As though his heart had simply given up on trying to pump his blood as it slowly froze to ice in his veins.

But at some point, the bed suddenly dipped behind him. A hand settled onto his, the knuckles red, the nails a sickly blue. But moving, nevertheless. Alive and real.

“Elias,” Jon breathed, barely audible through unmoving lips. He tried to crane his head back, longing to look at him, to feel the warmth of his gaze on his face. A quiet sigh escaped Jon when Elias kissed his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Nothing but a light brush of lips, the gentle warmth of a candle. And with a painful thud, his heartbeat returned.

A stinging pain accompanied the first hesitant twitches of his fingers, needles jabbing his limbs as he tried to move. But he did manage to roll onto his back, his pulse racing faster when he locked eyes with Elias, that shared moment of falling into the pupil of the eye. Their shared completion. He raised his hand to cup Elias’s face, brushing his thumb across his cheek. Such effort for such a small gesture that he’d forgotten he was still wearing gloves.

A small sliver of skin peaked out just where the hem of Jon’s glove and his sleeve met, and Elias didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it, hooking his fingers into Jon’s sleeve and widening the small gap just a little further. Pressing his lips to Jon’s wrist.

Jon inhaled sharply, heat rising to his cheeks beneath Elias’s unwavering gaze. Carefully, Elias pulled off Jon’s glove, continuing to brush his lips over his palm, pressing it against his face. Tenderness as much as desperation.

“I knew you could find me,” Elias said. There was an unusual, raw note to his voice. “But I didn’t think you would.”

“Elias,” Jon started, but Elias shook his head.

“I know, Jon,” he said. “I know.” He stroked his other hand through Jon’s hair.

“No,” Jon insisted, his voice growing firmer. “I…” He took a deep breath. “I needed you. And you abandoned me.”

“I would have only been in your way,” Elias said. He let his hand trail down Jon’s face, caressing his cheek. “It wasn’t an easy choice. But I always watched you, Jon.”

It wasn’t the apology Jon wasn’t even sure he would have wanted. Nor the satisfying explanation he had hoped for. And still, his words ignited a heat in his chest.

“And what did you see?” he asked, pulling Elias closer.

“I watched you become who you are today,” Elias said, lowering his lips to Jon’s. “My Archivist.”

He kissed Jon, his hand slipping towards his neck, pulling at the scarf to reach the sensitive skin along his throat, stroke it with the gentlest pressure of fingers, just enough to make Jon gasp against his lips. He curled his arm around Elias to draw him closer.

One by one, they removed the layers that separated them, clothes carelessly dropped onto the floor or pushed haphazardly down to the edge of the bed in their eagerness to remain close, Elias half-draped across Jon’s chest. It should have made it worse, leaving their bare bodies exposed to the cold air around them. But all Jon felt was the molten heat that coursed through his veins, igniting anew in little sparks with every caress, with every kiss, with every breath he shared with Elias.

And when Elias’s hand slipped between his thighs, Jon let them fall open for him, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to relax as Elias circled his hole with saliva-slicked fingers.

“Look at me,” Elias said, his voice quiet and calm, such a contrast to the burning intensity in his gaze that Jon couldn’t tear himself away from. His teeth dug into his lip when Elias breached him, his eyes widened, but he didn’t look away. Allowing Elias to taste it all, the anxious fear, the anticipation, the bliss of Elias seeing him, and knowing him in turn, taking in his hunger, his possessive desire to forever keep Jon in his sight. A quiet moan shuddered out of Jon. 

“You’re doing so well,” Elias said in a low voice, giving Jon time to adjust before he started moving his fingers. Heat pooled low in his stomach, a fire fuelled with every stroke of Elias’s fingers inside him, every soothing word of praise he whispered into the small space between them, while Elias’s cock hardened against Jon’s thigh, sliding across his heated skin in a languid rhythm.

Jon hadn’t expected the rush of emptiness pulses through him when Elias pulled out his fingers, drawing a small, dismayed groan out of him. Elias shushed him gently, his breath so warm against his skin, coaxing Jon onto his side, one hand on his thigh, widening the spread of his legs before drawing him into his embrace. His cock slid between his buttocks, along his inner thighs, leaving Jon to squirm restlessly in Elias’s hold.

“Elias, please,” he panted, hardly recognising his own voice, the unusual pitch of it. There was one last, teasing push across his skin, sharpening his anticipation. Then Elias slowly entered him, sliding deeper until he bottomed out. His arm around Jon tightened, and there was something broken in the moan that escaped him, that he silenced with his mouth pressed against Jon’s neck, teeth grazing across his skin.

“Elias,” Jon repeated, breathless, digging his fingers into Elias’s arm. He couldn’t hold back the noise he made when Elias started moving, setting a slow pace that left Jon pushing back against him for more.

And more, he did provide, curling a leg across Jon’s, deepening the angle of his thrusts, making Jon cry out, leaving his mind blissfully blank but for the sensations they shared.

“Touch yourself,” Elias said, his breath ghosting hot over Jon’s skin. “Let me see you.”

Despite his reluctance to let go of Elias, his heart was beating fast as he the intensity of Elias’s gaze burned against his skin.

“That’s it,” Elias said as Jon closed his fingers around his cock. Slick with pre-come, it throbbed in his hand with every stroke, every firm thrust of Elias’s hips.

Elias’s hold around him tightened. With one final movement, he thrust himself in deep, spilling his seed inside Jon. The rhythm of Jon’s hand stuttered as he felt Elias’s cock twitch inside him. All it took to send him over the edge was one last stroke.

They lay still for a couple of moments, filling the silence around them with harsh breaths that gradually evened out. When Elias started drawing back, Jon’s hand flew to his side, unthinking.

“Stay,” he whispered, face half buried against the pillow. He felt Elias smile against his shoulder as he pulled Jon closer by his hips, sheathing himself fully inside him again, entangling their limbs. With a sigh, Jon leaned into the embrace. Elias’s hand was resting above his heart, gentle and warm. Like this, Jon could finally allow himself to drift off, safe and protected. Feeling like he would never be cold again.

~

Jon’s eyes shot open. He must have turned in his sleep at some point, because he was facing Elias now. The sight of his sleeping form did make his alarm ebb away briefly. His chest was half exposed by the covers, inviting Jon to draw closer and let himself be carried away by sleep again. It was a wish that reminded Jon that he should run, instead. But that would have been a mistake he did not intend to make again.

“Elias.” Jon lightly shook his shoulder. His sleep must have been light, because he woke startingly soon. And his expression mirrored Jon’s seriousness.

“Did you dream?” Elias asked. Jon shook his head.

“Me neither.” Elias sat up, massaging his shoulder. “But at least it seems that we’re back at the real Institute, for now. Still, I believe it would be rather unwise for us to get separated again.

Jon agreed, sitting up as well. Much as he wanted to ask, he forced himself to shove the curiosity about Elias’s dreams aside. “We need to get your office.”

A quick shower was all the time they allowed themselves to waste. At least the water remained pleasantly warm as long as they did not let go of each other for too long. And while Elias got dressed, Jon quickly texted Daisy to let her know that everything was alright.

The Institute was still mostly empty in the early morning hours, but Elias still guided them upstairs through a staircase Jon wasn’t sure he’d ever taken before in all the years he’d worked there. It did nothing to alleviate the on-setting feelings of guilt, stoked by the comfort he felt whenever he felt when Elias coaxed him further along with a hand at the small of his back. Little touches to ensure neither of them disappeared again, too gentle to be purely perfunctory.

The mistletoe still hung in Elias’s office, looking just as innocuous as the last time he’d seen it.

“Do you think that could… work?” Jon asked after telling Elias about his plan. It felt rather naïve. But trying didn’t hurt.

“I think so. Peter always had a bit of a romantic streak.”

“Yes, freezing to death in a lonely hellscape, how lovely.”

“Please. If Peter simply wanted me dead or gone, he would have had countless opportunities already. I assumed he would simply put an end to this spectacle when he’d had his fun. Or perhaps he didn’t foresee anything happening at all.”

“I’ll remember to ask him if I ever get to see him,” Jon muttered sourly, but Elias simply smiled.

“Please do. But for now…”

He guided Jon towards the mistletoe, pulling him closer with an arm around his waist, tipping his chin up gently. Jon’s cheeks flushed beneath his touch, his hands settling on Elias’s shoulders. “I-I think a quick peck would be enough,” he murmured, letting his eyes flutter shut when Elias kissed him. His lips parted willingly for Elias’s tongue, a quiet sigh escaping him.

And then Jon felt it. A feeling like warm summer rain, replaced by the cold dread and twisted joy of being watched forever, all his secrets laid bare. He clung to Elias, terrified, elated, it was all the same, as Elias’s grip around him tightened. And then, just a moment later, the sensation faded again. But Elias’s lips lingered on his, and Jon found himself loathe to pull away first.

~

Jon sat in Elias’s chair, indulging in comfortable drowsiness while he watched Elias climb a stepladder to remove the mistletoe. After a brief inspection, it quickly disappeared into a resealable bag he had prepared, which he then handed to Jon after stepping down again.

“What can you tell me about this?” he asked, sitting down at the other side of the desk.

Jon turned it over. He certainly had some choice words about it. But there was more.

He turned on the tape recorder on Elias’s desk and relayed the sordid tale. A secret love that had been threatened to be revealed underneath the mistletoe. The rejection that had set the lovers gruesome fate in stone. The mourning sister who had kept the wretched thing, unaware of the role it had played in the couple’s demise.

“Her statement is in the box I went through yesterday,” Jon said at the end of the recording. “I didn’t really look at it because it didn’t feel real. I… I couldn’t See it.”

“The Lonely has its way of preserving its secrets,” Elias said and turned off the tape. “Excellent work, Jon.”

His words glowed warm inside him.

“Now, I think Sonja will be quite interested in this item. There haven’t been any new acquisitions in a while. So if you could bring this to Artefact Storage…”

Jon nodded, standing up from his seat. His legs felt a little shaky.

“And afterwards, I think it’s time for me to give you my side of this experience.”

Jon paused. Then, carefully, he set the bag aside and rounded the desk to stand before Elias.

“Why wait?”

Elias let out a quiet laugh. He grasped Jon’s hips, pulling him closer, until he had no choice but to straddle his lap. That electricity sparked between them again, and this time, Jon did not resist its draw. His eyes didn’t leave Elias’s as he reached for the tape recorder by his side, turning it on again.

“Statement of Elias Bouchard,” Jon said.

“Regarding a cursed item gifted to me,” Elias continued.

“Statement begins.”


End file.
